


Escalation

by cmk418



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, NHL Lockout, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmk418/pseuds/cmk418
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Ryan Miller involved in the talks, things could escalate quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escalation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fragilebones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilebones/gifts).



> Written for part of the home_ice wishlist stocking-fillers for the prompt: _Inter-team fraternization! You know, dudes getting to hang out with friends/enemies they usually battle it out with on the ice, because it's the Olympics or WC/WJC, or because it's the lockout._ I went with the last option.
> 
> I'm not sure it could be expressly considered fraternization, but I hope you like it anyway.
> 
> Warning for language, if you're sensitive to that sort of thing. And the standard disclaimer that this is a work of fiction and I'm sure all of the parties involved behaved themselves in a somewhat more dignified manner than in presented here.

Things had escalated at an exponential rate and not in a good way. Surveying the scene in front of him, Sid knew that something had to be done and done quickly. Miller had gone off the deep end, screaming things that every player had thought at one time or another into the face of an amused Jeremy Jacobs.

Sid nodded to Toews and the two of them pulled the looming goaltender away from the conference table and manhandled him down the hallway into a smaller room that the players had used for private discussions. Donald Fehr glanced up from his paperwork. “Meeting over?”

Miller was struggling between them. “You fucking assholes! All of you. They sit there and run roughshod all over us and you take it like the little bitches you are.” 

A crack reverberated throughout the room as Sid slapped Miller across the face. “Don, we’re going to need the room,” Sid said in the voice he used when his team fell behind by three goals to the Islanders.

Fehr hastily shoved his paperwork into a briefcase and scrambled out the door. Toews raised an eyebrow at him. “You too, Jonny. I’ve got this.” Sid locked the door behind Toews and then stood with his arms crossed in front of him facing the goaltender.

That earned a snort from Miller. The goaltender grinned at him. “I see you’ve assumed the good little player’s position. Maybe you should just try bending over next time. You’ve got this. Yeah, right.” Miller shoved at Sid, jostling him a step or two away from the door.

“You wanna go?” Sid asked. Just because this wasn’t the normal place for such encounters didn’t mean that certain rules failed to apply.

“God, yes,” Miller replied and punched Sid in the stomach.

It was on then, and not one of those typical hockey fights with the circling and the occasional jabs. This was everything that he wanted to do in those stupid, pointless, useless meetings for the past three months. This was all out warfare – kicking and scratching, hair-pulling and biting. A sleeve was torn off of Sid’s shirt and three of the buttons had been popped off of Miller’s. They bounced off walls, tumbling backward over the couch as Sid was trying to choke the goaltender. As they landed on the floor with a heavy thud, Sid released him. He could still see the red marks that marked the places where his fingers had tightened around Miller’s neck.

The two lay there a moment, breathing heavily. Miller said, “Fuck,” and started to laugh. “You look like shit, Crosby. How’s my hair?”

Sid stared at the other man for a moment and then a great honking laugh erupted from him. He tucked a strand of hair behind Miller’s ear and said, “Now, it’s perfect.” He traced the shell of Miller’s ear and watched as the goaltender shuddered. “Tsk-tsk. You should know better. Never let your opponent see an opening.” He curled his fingers gently around the goaltender’s neck and guided him forward until their lips met.

Sid’s phone buzzed, an unwelcome intrusion in the silence of the room.

“Just leave it,” said Miller. “If the lockout is over, Backes will be banging the door down any second to tell us.”

“Right,” Sid said, rolling away from Miller, the mood effectively killed.

The two men picked themselves off of the floor and tried to make themselves as presentable as possible. Sid didn’t know how they would explain the bruises. Sid’s phone continued to buzz with incoming texts. He ignored them all. 

For once, the fight had gone out of him.


End file.
